


Wednesday Morning, 3 AM (After Changes We Are More Or Less The Same)

by minijhi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, M/M, Relationship Study, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3601041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minijhi/pseuds/minijhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima Kei is sixteen, life finally falling into place, in addition to being the boyfriend of Kuroo Tetsurou.  And then all of a sudden he’s still sixteen, life roaring too loudly in his ears, now the boyfriend of the boy who died in that car accident.  </p><p>Six years down the road, for the first time in long time, he comes across Kozume Kenma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wednesday Morning, 3 AM (After Changes We Are More Or Less The Same)

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this story last summer at the very beginning of my Kuroo/Kenma/Tsukki obsession. I thought: Would, and how would Kenma/Tsukki work if Kuroo wasn’t around?
> 
> Story title and chapters names all borrowed from Simon and Garfunkel.

When Tsukishima comes out from his shower in Kuroo’s apartment, he notices something is amiss immediately.  The tv is muted, some talk show playing, the people silently pantomiming gestures and facial expressions, looking truly ridiculous. In the kitchen, there is the sound of dripping water.

Kuroo is pacing the floor between the kitchen sink and the refrigerator, dishes half-done, phone to his ear.

“What does that even mean?”  Kuroo demands to the person on the other end. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”  

Tsukishima raps his knuckles against the doorframe so he won’t be eavesdropping.  “Everything okay?”  he asks quietly.

Kuroo startles, smiles wanly and gives Tsukishima a thumbs-up sign.  “Kenma.” he mouths, and steps out onto the porch, sliding the door shut behind him so Tsukishima cannot hear their conversation. Through the glass door, Tsukishima watches the agitated curve of his boyfriend’s back, watches the way his shoulders sag, the way his hand comes up to grip the railing, head bowed.

Tsukishima frowns.

“I need to go to Kenma’s.”  Kuroo says, barely five minutes later when he comes back in. He looks troubled, eyebrows creased with worry and Tsukishima hates that Kenma does this to him, to them. Kuroo and Kenma have seen each other almost every day for the past seventeen years, Tsukishima doesn’t understand what is so important that Kuroo needs to go to him at night even during the week Tsukishima is visiting.

Kuroo’s face melts into a sad smile. Tsukishima realizes he might have spoken aloud.

“It’s important, Tsukki, I promise I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t this important.”  Kuroo says.  “Be a bit nicer to Kenma, okay?  It’s not his fault.”

Tsukishima opens his mouth to protest, but Kuroo silences him with a kiss.

Tsukishima sighs.  “Fine.  I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”  Kuroo murmurs against his lips before pulling away to look for his car keys.  He finds them, the corny crow keychain he made Tsukishima buy for him for their one-year anniversary hanging on the keyring next to an orange cat that Tsukishima pretends he doesn’t notice every single time.  Tsukishima looks away, and Kuroo ends up pressing his goodbye kiss into the side of Tsukishima’s face.

“I’m sorry.”  Kuroo says, far too sincerely.

“Just go.”  Tsukishima sighs.

Kuroo’s fingers brush his arm, and then he’s gone, and Tsukishima’s left staring at an empty apartment.  It leaves him uneasy, and out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of something hanging over the back of the sofa.

“Kuroo!”  Tsukishima calls, yanking the door open after his boyfriend. Kuroo turns in surprise as Tsukishima flings something over his head. 

“You forgot your damn jacket.”  Tsukishima says grumpily.  “It’ll get cold later.” 

Kuroo’s eyes light up and his grin is genuine. It makes Tsukishima feel all mushy inside, he hates it.  Kuroo slings the red volleyball jacket over one shoulder and just smiles and smiles up at Tsukishima.

“Wake me if you get home late.”  Tsukishima mutters reluctantly.  “I won’t be in Tokyo forever, you know.” 

It shouldn’t be possible, but Kuroo’s grin increases in voltage.  Casting one last fond look at Tsukishima, he blows a noisy air-kiss at Tsukishima. Tsukishima watches him until he disappears down the road towards his car.

Jesus Christ.  Tsukishima’s becoming a housewife.

 

-

 

After Kuroo leaves, Tsukishima returns to the bedroom, clears out some space on his desk and tries to do some homework. As he tries to read some essays about Japan’s economy throughout the years and produce a thesis from the statistics, he finds his gaze wandering to the various books lining the shelves. A lot of them are textbooks, but a few are silly:  _Stories of the Wandering Ninja, A Cat’s Adventures on Mount Fuji, Cherry Blossom Senior Year_ , and Tsukishima snorts at each one, mentally storing them in the back of his mind to rub in Kuroo’s face.

He fiddles with two side-by-side volumes of some ridiculous, romance novel that Kuroo is not-so-secretly a fan of:  Kuroo’s only occasionally embarrassed by his tastes in literature, but at the same time he’s confident that he could make even reading _Diaries of A Lovesick Girl in Paris_ look cool, and to be honest, Tsukishima’s fairly certain he could. It’s disgusting, and terribly cute.

Tsukishima pulls out a book he doesn’t recognize and instantly realizes his mistake— it’s a game, not a book. Reading the title, Tsukishima knows it’s a pre-ordered copy of an RPG game from one of Kenma’s favourite gaming companies, set to be released a few days after Kenma’s birthday. Just like Kuroo to find a way to get it before Kenma’s birthday, Tsukishima thinks, and slots it back in between the books.

He slides off the desk and flops onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.  He lies there for a long time, listening to the ticking of the clock and his own uneven heartbeat.  He closes his eyes, and tries to picture living here with Kuroo, forever.

Tsukishima knows this, that when he isn’t around this is the bed that Kuroo shares with Kenma, and he doesn’t try to fool himself into believing that it doesn’t bother him.  Kuroo knows this, but there are parts of Kenma and Kuroo’s relationship that even Tsukishima can’t hold light to.

Tsukishima knows, that if he ever went far enough to make Kuroo choose between him and Kenma, he knows who Kuroo would choose. He won’t ever, because some deep-down, logical part of his brain knows that this is different, that Kuroo loves him even though he loves Kenma, and he has no reason to be jealous, but on nights like this in particular, it’s hard not to feel like a kept lover, second-choice, second-best. 

Before doubt can swallow him whole, Tsukishima reaches for his phone and hits Kuroo’s speed dial button.

“Tsukki?”  Kuroo’s voice says.

“It’s late.”  Tsukishima says, before glancing at the clock to see with some surprise, that it actually is.  It’s past midnight.  “Are you coming home?”

Kuroo hesitates.  Too long.  _Don’t do this now, don’t do this to me,_ Tsukishima begs internally.

“Yeah, I’m coming.  I’ll see you in forty minutes.  Love you.”  Kuroo says, and Tsukishima closes his eyes, letting the relief wash over him.

“Love you too.”  He murmurs to the dial tone.

 

-

 

In the darkness, there is a blinking light reflected against the glass of the window.  The inverse red digits of the digital clock tell Tsukishima that it’s almost two in the morning. 

Kuroo’s side of the bed is still cold and empty.

Tsukishima rolls over under the blankets and hears it again—the faint buzzing noise that had woken him from his restless sleep. His phone.

Tsukishima sits up, fumbling for his phone. Finding it under Kuroo’s pillow, he picks it up without looking at the caller ID.

And drops it.

 

-

 

Kuroo used to say:  “At every funeral there are only ever two kinds of people, the lovers and the strangers.”

“For some reason, that makes me very uncomfortable.” Tsukishima tells him.

“Well,”  Kuroo says, “You have to think about it this way— in life, you either love the hell out of someone, or you don’t know them at all.”

Tsukishima doesn’t bother looking up from his tea. “I know a lot of people I don’t love the hell out of.”

“It's kind of weird to think about,” Kuroo continues musing absently, as if Tsukishima hadn’t spoken, “you know, there are these people in life you meet like Oikawa-kun, or Kageyama-kun, who you don’t think you know all that well, but when you die you instantly become lovers?" 

Tsukishima chokes on his tea.  “What on earth are you talking about?” he demands.

Kuroo smirks proudly at him, as if he hadn’t just mentioned becoming lovers with both the Grand King and his protégée. Tsukishima runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Can you please try not to put me in the same category as Kageyama or Oikawa?”  Tsukishima says.

“You’re already in the same category as Kageyama in a lot of things.”  Kuroo proceeds to inform him glibly.  “Both volleyball players, both in Karasuno, both first-years—”

 Tsukishima flicks a sugar cube straight into Kuroo’s face.

-

 

At Kuroo Tetsurou’s funeral, Tsukishima feels like both a lover and a stranger, and Kuroo’s too dead for Tsukishima to tell him he’s wrong on both counts.

He thinks he says something to Kuroo’s parents, something that is supposed to be comforting but isn’t, and he’s pretty sure they say something back.  Words rush around him but Tsukishima resolutely keeps his mouth shut.  Akiteru is somewhere in this crowd, sent as an escort, a babysitter, something, and with the sheer number of volleyball players Tsukishima can half-recognize in his dazed state it looks almost like a national tournament.

Of course, then, it should come as no surprise when he stumbles into Kozume Kenma. 

What comes as a surprise is the fact that Kozume Kenma is wearing Kuroo’s volleyball jacket.

Before he’s even aware that his limbs are moving, Tsukishima has closed the distance between them, arm reaching for the jacket and yanking, hard.  Kenma pulls back, stumbling, and suddenly a dozen people have surrounded them, and someone is holding Tsukishima back, tearing his fingers from the material of Kuroo’s jacket.

“It’s all your fault!”  Tsukishima shouts, trying to swing his arm again, but there are several people holding him down now.  He doesn’t look to see who they are.  All he can focus on is the setter right in front of him, everything else a blurred-out haze.

The cat eyes are still staring at him, eyes calm and waiting. He’s wrapped in Kuroo’s jacket like he owns it, and everything about the sight is wrong.  Tsukishima thinks about the house that isn’t his, the phone call that took Kuroo away and now this, and he feels like he’s the one being attacked. 

“You fucking murderer.”  Tsukishima hisses, and the moment the words leave his mouth someone has delivered a sharp, stinging slap to his face, the intensity of the force knocking Tsukishima to the ground.  Anger courses through Tsukishima as he looks up, and he is thrown off guard for a split second.  Because it’s Hinata, fucking Hinata Shouyou, who is standing in front of him, glaring down at Tsukishima.  The boy has stepped right in between Tsukishima and Kenma, and his hand is still raised from the slap.

“Apologize to Kenma.”  Hinata says, reaching over to grab Tsukishima by his collar. “You had no right to say that to him.”

Hinata’s grip is a vice, and the boy’s eyes are cold. Tsukishima feels his insides churning. He stands, pushing at the gathered crowd.

“Fuck you.”  He spits at Kenma.  Then he whirls around, glaring at the rest of the group.  He can’t even tell who he’s looking at when he says, “Fuck all of you.”

Akiteru materializes at the edge of the crowd, and it’s the first face Tsukishima can tell apart from the rest.  His older brother bites his lip, looking at him in concern. 

“Let’s go.”  Tsukishima says coldly, and doesn’t wait to see if Akiteru is following.  

Lovers, strangers, it doesn’t matter. 

They all leave you in the end.

 

-

 

Tsukishima can’t explain a lot of the things he does that following week.  The very week that they’re all in Tokyo for the funeral, Karasuno and Nekoma decide to play a game to take their mind off things.  Above all the other times that Tsukishima has skipped matches or thought of skipping them, this time he knows for a fact that he is automatically granted immunity, but for some reason, he shows up.

He shows up, and he plays.

There’s a very satisfying weight to the ball smacking against his serve, and Tsukishima hits, hard.  Harder than he has in a very long time.  Pretends that Kuroo is somewhere in the sidelines, conflicted as to which team to root for.

Kenma stands across from him, exactly the distance they were at the funeral when Tsukishima had first spotted him.  Even with his eyes open, Tsukishima’s eyes can see Kuroo’s jacket burned into his gaze.  Tsukishima clenches his jaw.

He serves.

 

-

 

“I’m taking you out.”  Ennoshita says to Tsukishima over halftime break as they stand by the bench and take gulping breaths of water.

“What are you talking about?”

“Everyone can see what you’re doing, Tsukishima.” Ennoshita says. “You’re intentionally targeting Kenma. You can’t play like this.”

“I’ve scored more points in this game than anyone else on the team!”  Tsukishima says. “You’re not taking me out.”

“I can, and I will.”  Ennoshita says sharply.  “Maybe it’s too soon for you to be here.  I’m not letting you use the court as an arena for your personal grudges. You have no cause to be angry at Kenma.  He was Kuroo’s teammate, and best friend, and he is hurting just as much as you are.”

“It was his fault.”  Tsukishima snaps.  “If he hadn’t called that night, Kuroo wouldn’t have been out there.”

Ennoshita just looks at him.  “You’re wrong, Tsukishima, but even if that was the truth, you need to forgive him.”

“Why the hell—”

“Because Kuroo wouldn’t have wanted it!” Ennoshita snaps.

Their voices are raised higher and higher now, though the rest of the team has the decency to keep their distance. The tension in the air crackles with electricity.  Tsukishima feels like he’s on fire.

“Fuck Kuroo.”  Tsukishima says emotionlessly.  “He’s dead.  He doesn’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

Ennoshita blinks, and the anger is replaced with concern and sadness, and Tsukishima spins on his heel and strides away.

“I’m done with this game.”  Tsukishima says to the whole gymnasium. “I don’t want to play him anyway.”

 

-

 

Ennoshita shows up at Tsukishima’s house with Nishinoya in tow five days later, when they are all back in Miyagi. From the doorway Tsukishima can see Tanaka standing there, holding all three of their bicycles, and he scoffs at the fact that Ennoshita finds the need to bring backup for a conversation.

“I told you, I’m not playing.”  Tsukishima says, not even bothering to invite them into the house.  “I’m not going to stand there on a court with him and pretend that everything is A-okay.” 

“He quit.”  Ennoshita says.

“What?”

“Kozume Kenma quit the volleyball club.”

Tsukishima’s stomach does a flop and somehow it isn’t relief or satisfaction.  Ennoshita is still staring up at him expectantly, as though the news is going to put the whole world right again.

“Guess he wasn’t cut out for it, after all.” Tsukishima says, in a cold, leering voice that isn’t his own.  “Good, but if you honestly expect me to come running back—”

“Shut up, Tsukki.”  Noya interrupts.  He shoves the package that he is holding at Tsukishima.  “Open it.”

Tsukishima looks down at the package in his hands. He twists his lips into his trademark sneer, even though it hurts.  “What is it?  Don’t people send fruit baskets for condolences, not lumpy packages?”

“Open it.”  Noya repeats, in a voice that sends chills up Tsukishima’s spine.

His hands are shaking slightly as he undoes the string that ties up the package.  He has no idea what it could be, but something about it frightens Tsukishima. Finally, the string comes loose, and prying apart the paper, Tsukishima finds himself staring at a red volleyball jacket.

He drops the paper and the string to the floor, hands unfolding the jacket desperately so he can take a proper look at it. To see if it really is what he thinks it is.  His fingers fumble at the soft material, twisting, _twisting so he can see the number on the back and oh—_

_It is his._

It is Kuroo’s.

“How—?”  Tsukishima begins.  His words catch in his throat.

Ennoshita looks down at the jacket and shakes his head. “Kenma.  He told me to give it to you.  After what you did to him at practice the other day.”

“Jesus, Tsukishima, I know you loved him, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t matter, okay?”  Ennoshita says, and his voice is cracking.  In the back of Tsukishima’s head, Kuroo’s voice echoes unhelpfully, _lovers and strangers, lovers and strangers_.

Nishinoya almost reaches out to touch him, then seems to decide against it.  His hand rests against the door instead.

“Keep that jacket.”  Ennoshita says unnecessarily.  He has none of Nishinoya’s misgivings and gives Tsukishima a quick tap on the arm.  “Come back to practice whenever you’re ready." 

Ennoshita bows his head and retreats back down the steps to where Tanaka is waiting.  Noya lingers a moment longer, casting his gaze down at the jacket, which now seems to weigh a ton in Tsukishima’s hands.

“Even if you’re not ready,”  Nishinoya says quietly, “Come back to us anytime.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me? :)


End file.
